Running in the Family
by Meagan Snow
Summary: "Looking back it's so bizarre, it runs in the family, all the things we are." When Mycroft found out about Sherlock's supposed suicide, he realized it was his fault. But when their long-hidden sister suddenly makes an appearance as an attempted suicide, it truly appears to him what has been happening with the family.
1. Prologue

**Hi, FanFiction readers! **

**I've decided to start something new here :) This will be co-authored, so put your hands together for the wonderful ****silversrider****! This chapter is in a huge part her work… I only supplied the idea and the song! I proofread it for her and wrote the prototype, but she was the one who truly transformed this into what it is!**

**So, without further ado… the Prologue!**

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_Running from the past, though we knew it couldn't last._

_Looking back, it's so bizarre, it runs in the family_

_All the things we are…_

_We only see so far, 'cause we all got our daddy's eyes._

-Running in the Family, Level 42

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Prologue:

The man sitting in the armchair beside a coffee table and a large window folded his hands and rested his chin upon them. The political dilemma that he had been working on required exquisite delicacy and diplomacy, and even he, the great Mycroft Holmes himself, was having difficulties with it. As if he were just a puppet on a string, the political problems were passed to him with even the grammar faults still in them.

It didn't bother him, though. The very fact that they considered him his puppet meant that his career was moving forward.

The man sighed and, against his will, his thoughts moved on to the outside world.

How could he have protected his little brother from his fate? Mycroft didn't have a clue. For once in his life, there was a problem posed before him that he couldn't solve, with his silver tongue and icy exterior.

Sherlock… he had always been to stubborn to listen to him. Always being too stupidly smart, believing that he was above everything and all.

He would even prove it by going without sleep or food for days on end.

Mycroft let out an annoyed sigh at himself. Thinking of his brother wasn't going to make his work faster done or in any case easier.

His phone, laying on the coffee table next to his cup of tea, vibrated violently, making the entire stool rattle. Mycroft watched it move a few inches before picking it up.

"Yes? Mycroft Holmes speaking." He answered in his usual, seemingly bored voice. He managed to hide his slowly rising anger, which had become habit after dealing with so many political disputes. He had been so close to figuring out the answer he needed and of course, he had had to be interrupted at that very moment. Of course, he had to be accessible at every moment. Half the UN would be at war with the other half if it wasn't for his mediation.

"Mr. Mycroft, sir!" He heard a female voice call urgently. It was Anthea, his personal assistant. "I think that you might want to take this call."

He groaned. "Is it Bonder from the MI6 again? Please tell him that my word is final."

The man had been plaguing him for the past week. Was it that hard to understand that sometimes espionage agents died of natural causes?

"No, sir. It's from the St. Mary's Hospital. It's about…"

He cut her off. "Tell whoever it is I will be there straight the car. I am unavailable to anyone and everyone, time unspecified." He hung up hurriedly, grabbing his coat and umbrella and making for the exit quickly, a rare moment of emotion played on his impassive face.

Fear.

The fear of losing someone he actually loved. Another one. He remembered his own words so well, come to haunt him…

_"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."_

The phone lay on the table, forgotten, as did his case and laptop. Maybe caring wasn't an advantage, but he left in such a hurry that he might have fooled himself.

His black car quickly appeared to pick him up, and he got in.

His own words matched the rhythm in his head. "_Caring is not an advantage… Not an advantage… Not an advantage!"_

He sat down in the back seat and massaged his temples with his large hands. But he did care… He had cared about his parents. He cared about his brother… and now about her.

Maybe it was only all a big masquerade set up by his own brain, mostly to confuse himself whenever he was staring at his own reflection.

_You can't rule a country by caring. Look at the people walking there, so normal, so peaceful, so ignorant… So helpless… you can't help them by only caring._

He wouldn't stop the terrorists by just laying a hand on their shoulders and nicely asking them to stop. No. He had to come up with plans far more complicated than theirs, only to save the people of his country.

Mycroft looked out of the car window.

Nothing seemed to be the same as when he was still a young boy, walking hand-in-hand with his father on the streets of London, being shown the basics of police work…

He couldn't go back to all the time he spent talking with his mother about how the new Prime Minister was from the Conservative party and so might be responsible enough to lead the country…

However much he wished it deep in his heart, he wouldn't ever have the chance to play with his little brother ever again. He never did. He never had the time, and eventually Sherlock had grown up in his path.

_A family of geniuses, _he thought bitterly. And look where it had led them. His parents were dead. He was running half of Europe, his life hanging on a thread. And now… and now Sherlock had gone.

He couldn't bear it if… but he pushed the thought from his mind. She was alive, why else would she be in the hospital?

Growing up had changed everything for him. There where what was left of his heart used to be had made place for the dictating power of his own mind. Stronger than most of them, being able to out rule almost every human emotion… Like a robot, completing tasks and not feeling anything that got blown to him.

If he hadn't worn that mask, he wouldn't have gotten as far as he did.

But he wouldn't have failed as a brother.

He interrupted his mental tirade as the car pulled up next to the hospital, he didn't even wait for it to stop completely before he jumped out of it, hurrying toward the reception window.

"Hello. I'm here to see…" he stated, before giving her name.

The clerk tapped a few details into his computer before looking back at the man.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she's unconscious. Visitor's courtesy suggests that you wait until-"

Mycroft interrupted him. "Do you have any idea who I am?" He asked dangerously, playing the card he resented pulling out outside of work.

"I am Mycroft Holmes. I would like to see her, now."

The man entered the name into the computer and paled several shades. "Yes, sir. She's in the Intensive Care ward on the third floor, room 21b."

Mycroft nodded and without another word, climbed the stairs until he reached a sign that read "Intensive Care."

He walked down the hall of doors, staring at the names on the doors before stopping at the one that interested him.

"Jayne Holmes"

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**Please review! I think this came out fine :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**And here we are again, at chapter 2!**

**I'd have forgotten- neither I nor silversrider owns Sherlock (ooh, how I wish I did) **

**Anyway, the role division went like this: I came up with a basic idea, then she expanded a little and I expanded on that, then she expanded it into the final version, which I checked for "spunctuation"**

**Kudos to her for transforming a "meh" chapter into a "WOW!" chapter!**

**WARNING: Mentioned (briefly) attempted suicide/suicidal thinking**

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_Chapter 1_

Her pale hands clenched the sheets of the hospital-bed, her steady breathing being in perfect harmony with the beating of the heart-monitor besides her bed. Her face seemed peaceful, sending out some childish innocence that had been gone for a long time, the deathly pallor of her face making the light dusting of freckles stand out against her raven locks.

Without her larger-than-life personality, despite her considerable height her form looked fragile and broken.

Something she had tried to hide for so long.

With a small sigh, Mycroft Holmes turned back to the newspaper that had been laid on a side table. For visitors. For people who had come to care. For people who had come to wait. For people who had come to be happy, or to be sad. It felt odd, he didn't belong here and feel the way he did. He wasn't meant to be here and _hope_, just _hope_ for the best.

Hoping wasn't something he did often. He thought out a plan. He set the plan to work. He watched how the plan worked. He improved the plan. And that same thing, over and over again. Mycroft moved his interest back to the paper. Although the front page was had no longer been filled with the news of the tragic death of the Internet detective, still could Mycroft find more than enough 'news' about that what they now called the crimes of his younger brother.

Why had it come to this? He had promised his parents to take care of them. He had sworn it upon their grave. He had let them down.

Such a simple task. Especially for someone with his power, his intellect. But here he was. His brother had committed suicide, and she had almost gone in his tracks. Was it family fate? Would he follow? Mycroft shook his head. Of course he wouldn't. He was stronger than that, he had people, countries relying on him. Taking the first trip to another world wouldn't help anybody. Not even himself.

Her medical report read that she had shut herself in the garage with the engine on. She had been saved by her neighbor, who was walking his dog around the neighborhood. He had misunderstood the smoke rising from the garage for a fire, so he called the emergency services.

_It wasn't as easy as it seemed_, a small part of him tried to convince. _Keeping them in line._

Sherlock was a sociopath with a strange obsession with solving murders to keep himself from getting bored and Jayne was maniacally paranoid, though she had inherited a sizable dose of the Holmes family shrewdness as well.

_But you're not a regular man. You should have had no problem with keeping them in line._

Mycroft turned the page, not really looking at the contents (half of the news credited known politicians with his work, and the other half detailed mundane news that he could have gotten by simply observing the city), more just trying not to think. To tune out and forget. Because with every thought, he became more and more sure he had been responsible for their deaths.

No, his death. She wasn't dead. Yet.

The woman gave a small gasp, her eyes flickering open as she took in her surroundings. Mycroft immediately turned his head towards her and tried to give her a small smile, but she immediately withdrew herself and hid under the blankets. She collected herself and he could almost see the mental shields going up to cover her moment of unconscious weakness

Jayne's chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried her best to contain the paranoia fighting to take control of her. A little, innocent and childish part of her was glad to see her brother again, but a deciding majority of her was suspicious and accusing. How had he found her, when she had evaded him for so long? What would this mean for her, wasn't her life hard enough already without his meddling?

"Why am I here? How did you find me?" Her throat voiced the words before the rational part of her mind could stop them, before she actually could ask the question to herself instead. She mentally punished herself. What had she promised herself? Right. Not to trust anyone, especially not them, not [i]him. [/i]

Mycroft smiled gently, even though Jayne was sure that it was all an act, something he would keep up to try to get her into his large plans, like a spider in an intricate web. A web she couldn't climb out of easily, nets of his network under her, shielding her, keeping her from falling and destroying everything, but a web she hated being part of. It kept her from backing out and being invisible, and that was her goal.

"Do you remember what happened?" His voice sounded worried.

Suddenly, as if a long-waiting key left in an old and rusty lock was turned, the truth became crystal clear. Jayne gasped. Yes, she did. She did perfectly well. Perfectly too well.

Rose Adrian had just gotten home after a very long and tiring day of work. Not that her job was something important… No, she was a regular office secretary at the Greenwich police department, nobody important, but still… The office secretary heard everything, every little thing that was going on in the city, it was the safest place to stay. If anyone was onto her, she would be onto them and out of there before they managed to get any information about her. Why? Rose Adrian wasn't her real name, Rose Adrian had been Jayne Holmes' alias. The longest working yet. Until now.

She had listened to what seemed like thousands of seemingly innocent conversations, trying to analyze each and every one for traces of suspicion.

Anything and everything.

She heard it all. Every word, every letter spoken, every gesture, every implied meaning held silent. And then, she would unravel it in her mind, long webs of words, meanings, gestures, memories, stories and calculations. It all spun around her, day after day and night after night. It wouldn't leave her alone, it wouldn't get away. It drove her crazy, seeing everyone as a thread. Smiles to keep up the alias. Smiles to cover up who she was… Smiles to withdraw suspicions. But the mirror never lied. She couldn't look herself in the eyes. She didn't even trust herself, weaving her web around everyone else, trying not to get caught up in others.

She couldn't even trust herself because of how much she reminded herself of her eldest brother.

And that night. It was enough. She had decided she couldn't take it anymore. The tension rose to unbearable heights. The paranoia, the suspicion… the secrets, the lies- everything seemed to live their own life. _Her_ own life. A life she could never live to the fullest. Her mind surrounded her, with his own thoughts, consuming every feeling of safety, sanity.

End it all.

The pain. She would not feel anymore, the black nothingness can't betray you. Safety in the wings of the never ending dead. Buried under the ground, where no one ever would come to get her. Her memories would fade away. No one would be able to scare her anymore, because she would be gone.

Would be gone. Would be saved from her living hell. Would be saved from the demons running and ruling her life. Would. Be. Gone.

But she wasn't.

"Why did you save my life?" She called out angrily, her face clenched in despair and anger. "What's in it for you?" Her voice shivered with anxiety- she was afraid of the things he might say or do. Still keeping a decent amount of distance, the sheets making a soft wall between them, she looked at him.

Mycroft watched his sister with mixed feelings. Anger, despair and sadness. He was supposed to save her, shield her in his arms when the world was cruel. He was her brother.

But she had pushed him away every time he tried, so he didn't approach her. He shook his head silently.

"There's nothing in it for me at all, Jayne." He said, keeping his voice soft, smooth and comforting. A manner of speaking he only used for her, not for anything or anybody else. He could see her fear behind her mask of blame.

But it wasn't the fear normal people know. Not the kind of fear people have before losing a loved one. Not the fear before losing life. Not even the fear of self-doubt. It was a fear far greater than all. The fear only a paranoid one could understand. The fear of intelligence.

The fear of her own intelligence, and the fear of the intelligence of others.

She had been told from the start of her life that she had been different. Her parents had told her, the teachers at school… The children. The hurt that came with it. Knowing what would come, but not being able to see a performable solution. Thinking and thinking and thinking again. But never coming out with the right answer, always going too far.

Going too far was what had come to rule her life. Seeing, or _believing_ to see the bigger plan, the plan to hurt her was what had driven her insane.

Jayne still wondered, what was her bigger plan for life? Would and could she go on this way? She thought she had found the answer, but it had been taken away from her. Thanks to the man sitting beside her bed. Thanks to him, her brother, was she still here on earth. And she wasn't glad for it.

She had made the decision and tried her best to succeed.

And thanks to him, she failed. No rest, still being locked in the prison of her own mind. Still walking around on the piece of earth called her prison. Was she needed in one of his bigger plans, all aimed to hurt her?

Her thoughts swam darkly as she surveyed him, but something they had had to give her wasn't allowing her to focus.

"You drugged me!" She accused, as she fell back into the relief of no thought.


	3. Chapter 2

**Sorry, this is late. And short. And, in all honesty, 90% Silver's work :) And my fault it's late xD Sorry I took so long!**

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Mycroft watched his little sister sinking into unconsciousness. It was surprising how easily the mind could be intoxicated by just the smallest amount of drugs. It was funny, really, how it was the only power that could stop the power of thought. Both the great and the frightening faded away in the blink of an eye. In the shortest moment imaginable could the body and mind from the strongest or smartest person on this small piece of earth disappear. Just because of a small amount of something small, vulnerable, easy to annihilate with only one step of a human... It was amazing how vegetation, wild and as easy destructible as it was, could with one leaf, one small dose destroy the powerful body and mind of even the most important human being in the world. And there laid his little sister drugged by his own needle, something he kept close for these exact occasions. To prevent disasters from happening. To _help_ people, but even more to help the world. But not because he cared about hem, no, because he had to.

He just sat there for hours and hours, next to her bed. He had read the paper so many times now, he could cite it word-for-word. He had devised a revolution that would reduce Russia to the size of Luxembourg (he never _had_ liked Russia that much). He had come to a logical conclusion about several age-old paradoxes. He had even thought out a whole business plan for an umbrella company that could make him more wealthy than the queen herself.

But he didn't care about any of that. Those were all just things to get his mind off from solving the problems he couldn't solve. Problems concerning his feelings of which he thought he never had. Problems concerning people he cared about. Problems of which he thought should only matter to a different kind of people, insignificant people with insignificant matters on insignificant minds. But nothing else could be farther from the truth. He had _exactly_ the same problems as them, maybe his were even worse...

The doctor had visited them right after he had drugged her. The questions he had been asking had been getting on his nerves. It was none of his business where he got his drugs. Neither why his little sister would try to take her life. That was "family confidential," wasn't it? Who did the man think he was? Why would he be interested in his sister's situation? It was none of his business. It took all of his self-control to not fall apart in front of the doctor. To yell at him. To bring him to financial ruin with a quick touch of his finger on his smartphone's touch screen.

_The good news is that she is allowed to go home now…_  
Mycroft watched the quiet form of his sister laying on the bed. The doctor had called it good news. He had told Mycroft with a friendly smile.

_Look, everything is going to be alright! Your sister is okay!_

Would that have been what the man had been thinking? If only it was so easy…

_If she goes home… she'll fall back into her paranoia. And God himself, or lack of such, knows how it might end this time._ It could be too late next time... It would probably be too late. She would think of better, faster ways to end her life and how could he be around all the time to stop her, to free her from her own paranoid mind? How could he save her from the enemy that she was to herself?

Mycroft had never had a real conscience. He had been too busy running cool calculations from the sidelines, orchestrating wars from the comfort of his office, to ever have developed one. But despite everything, his was finally stirring awake. He knew that he couldn't just let Jayne be- he cared, yes, he _cared_ for her far too much to allow that to happen.

He couldn't pull another Sherlock (stand by and let it play out). _He. Had. To. Do. Something. _Anything at all. Everything would do… Everything just to save her, to not see the next Holmes fall…

However, beyond his emotional hurricane, Mycroft was still able to think rationally. He had absolutely no "people skills." PR experience? Yes. Psychology expertise? Of course. But "people skills"? This was one of the few things that was beyond his considerable capabilities.

And yet, he certainly lacked the time to remain constantly at her side and he couldn't simply get "_someone_" to watch her. "_Someone_," just any "_someone_" wouldn't be able to keep her in line. She would kill him and then herself in a sort of blinding paranoid rage. She wouldn't care about normal "_someones_," that "_someone_" had to be something more, the "_someone_" needed to be able to feel, even understand her twisted mind, the "_someone_" had to be strong, strong both in mind and in body. Where could he find such a "_someone_"? No, it had to be Mycroft.

_But how?_

He played absentmindedly with the cover of his phone, opening and closing it in some sort of compulsive manner. He didn't even notice the rhythmic clicking.  
_Click-click. Click-click._

He was unable to spend every moment with her, but it was obvious that she needed someone by her side. He needed to call a somebody. But not just "_someone_." A _specific_ someone. But who?  
_Click-click-click._

Someone who was fairly close to the Holmes family. Who could keep a secret. Who wouldn't judge, or would at the very least pretend not to. Who would care enough to help. Who wouldn't care enough to ask questions. But who?_Cl-click-click-cl-click._

But who? Mycroft's massive brain seemed to be chasing its own tail. _Who was like that? Who?  
Click-click-crack._

_…Crack?_

Mycroft looked down and noticed that he had cracked the screen of his phone with his clicking, but besides that he had activated his phone. A list of names displayed onscreen. Not very long. Just a list of texts he had gotten… before. Before then... Before the fall... Before he thought he didn't care, pretended to not care...

At the very top was someone labeled "J H W."_ John Hamish Watson._

Perfect.


End file.
